


i'm glad i didn't die before i met you

by jojotxt



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Universe, I... don't really have much to say about this, Keith is too gay for his own good: the fic, Kissing, M/M, Senses, bad kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 12:04:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7891492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jojotxt/pseuds/jojotxt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A relationship in five senses, as told by Keith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm glad i didn't die before i met you

**Author's Note:**

> SO lemme start out by saying THANK YOU!!! my bakery au and beach au have BOTH reached 1000 kudos and I'm !!! so touched omg!!! Thank you so much for your wonderful comments and encouragement it really makes me so happy!!
> 
> Now, onto other stuff: I've been sorta going through a writer's block??? I just started college (woo!!!) and I haven't had the time nor the inspiration to write anything!! but i wrote this really quickly because I felt bad for just... not writing anything. I DO have 2 klance wips that i'm working on, but I have NO IDEA when they'll be finished, if ever!
> 
> this fic is inspired by telekinesis' song "awkward kisser" it's SUCH a cute song and definitely reminds me of these two! check it out if you want to! the title of the fic is from bright eyes' "first day of my life" which is ANOTHER CUTE SONG!!
> 
> once again, if you ever draw anything for my fics LET ME KNOW!!! i will weep on your shoulder forever.... 
> 
> anyway, i hope u enjoy!

_Touch: You once said I was an awkward kisser. (And I said it was a lie.)_

When they first started… whatever they were doing, it was all flushed skin combined with the warm, indescribable feeling of holding someone else’s hand in your own. Pinkies nervously touching each other, inching closer on soft sheets, hesitant gazes meeting each other. Soft touches, hair brushing the apples of cheeks, the feeling of another boy’s lips touching his own.

 

Lance’s hands were rough, but not unpleasantly so. They were littered with tiny constellations, a connect-the-dot series of freckles and beauty marks that Keith liked to trace absentmindedly. He liked to hold Lance’s hand in his own, to trace his palm, run his thumb over his knuckles, and feel the way Lance’s fingers would twitch in response. Keith liked to compare Lance’s skin with the nighttime sky. Dots and marks of all different shapes and sizes coming together to form a picturesque map against a dark background.

 

Lance’s hands told stories. Keith traced over a scar that ran from the inside of his middle finger down to his wrist. He had accidentally cut himself with a bayard. He’d nearly collapsed from the blood loss, but Keith was there to help him to the medical bay. (Keith was always there to pick him up.) The callouses on Lance’s fingers were from years of rough training and picking at skin. Keith opened Lance’s palm so it was facing up. He ran his pinky over a patch of skin that hadn’t quite healed properly; Lance had been burned badly during a mission, the only trace of the wound remaining came in the form of a triangle shaped scar. Keith brought Lance’s palm up to his lips and kissed it gently.

 

Their first kiss was nothing pleasant. They had been sitting on Lance’s bed, their legs crisscrossed, their body postures overly straight and uncomfortable. Lance hadn’t been looking at Keith, he’d been looking to the side, his hands fiddling at the scratchy bedsheets, picking off stray threads and tossing them to the side. Keith’s own hands had been clasped together, his thumbs twiddling together uncomfortably.

 

Lance had asked if he was ready; Keith had said yes.

 

He didn’t know why he said yes. Keith had never kissed anyone before. But he trusted Lance. He would always trust Lance.

 

Lance sent him a worried glance, a gaze that said, _are you sure?_

 

Keith gave an easy smile. _Of course_.

 

Lance leaned forward, and their mouths slotted together, warmth pressed against warmth. Keith shifted slightly so he was sitting on his knees, his hands curled in on each other tightly. His eyes were screwed shut. His hands twitched; he didn’t know what to do with them. Keith could feel his face blooming scarlet. It was a terrible kiss, all in all.

 

Lance didn’t fare much better. His hands awkwardly grasped at Keith’s shoulder, pushing down harshly to where it almost hurt. Keith grimaced into their sloppy kiss, but he didn’t complain. Keith could feel Lance’s chapped mouth against his. Lance had a tendency to pick at the skin of his lip, making his mouth harsh against Keith’s own moisturized lips. Keith sighed when Lance’s tongue traced his bottom lip and he opened his mouth hesitantly. Lance didn’t pursue though, and just kept their kiss closed-mouth.

 

Their teeth clanked against each other awkwardly, and Keith nearly pulled away from the disastrous first kiss, until Lance reached up into his hair and tangled his fingers in it and _pulled_.

 

Keith yelped and broke away quickly, holding onto his head. “Dude, what the hell!” He glared over at Lance, who was giving a confused and slightly horrified look.

 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry I thought you would like that!”

 

“Well I didn’t! It hurt!”

 

“I’m sorry!”

 

After a while, they decided that tangling fingers through soft hair and running blunt fingernails over scalps was okay, much better, really. Keith liked it when Lance played with his hair. The feeling of Lance’s fingers on his head was very relaxing, and oftentimes put Keith to sleep.

 

Keith hummed when Lance’s finger traced over his forehead and down his nose, toward his lips. It was as if Lance was mapping Keith’s profile, his face, like he was making sure to remember it.

 

In case he ever forgot. Or if something _happened_. (He didn’t like to think about that.)

 

Keith smiled at the feeling of Lance’s finger butterfly touching his lips. The feeling was momentarily gone, before it was replaced with Lance’s own lips, rough yet soft at the same time.

 

It was soft, gentle. Chaste. It was nice, and Keith felt a warmth spread through his chest. It was a warmth that he had never felt before. It wasn’t bad, though. It was nice.

 

And when Lance smiled, Keith felt it against his own lips.

 

It was nice.

 

* * *

 

_Smell: We walked for miles with no end in sight. (Hand in hand we will grow old.)_

Lance smelled like fabric softener and coconut.

 

It wasn’t a bad combination, it was warm and comforting and Keith enjoyed the smell of Lance’s bedsheets when he laid down next to him, holding him close. He liked burying his nose in Lance’s shoulder and just memorizing Lance’s smell.

 

(There’s not a lot to smell, in the depths of space.)

 

Sometimes, Lance would talk about the different smells from where he’s from. His home.

 

_The oceans; they smell like salt and warmth, seaweed combined with the scent of suntan lotion and bug spray. Breakfast; pancakes drenched in sugary sweet syrup, along with the bitter aroma of coffee and tangy orange juice… Bacon and eggs and fresh fruit. Home; fresh cleaned linen and cinnamon apple pies baking in the oven… Vanilla lotion and fresh pineapple._

It was all very relaxing.

Keith loved the moments when Lance got lost in his own thoughts. He looked calm, peaceful.

 

“What does home smell like to you?” Lance had asked him, his head resting on Keith shoulder, his eyes closed in content. From where he was, Keith could map out every scent.

 

_Home. I don’t really have a home._

 

Keith thought to what he would consider home, and all that came up was rough, scar-littered skin and chapped lips pressed against his own.

 

He smiled and closed his eyes, humming out, “Fabric softener and coconut.”

 

* * *

 

_Sight: Singing songs of our summers past. (I will never let this go.)_

Lance was beautiful. At least, Keith thought he was.

 

He didn’t really fit the conventional standard of beauty; he had his physical flaws. He wasn’t perfect.

 

(But he was perfect to Keith.)

 

Lance’s skin was dark—not as dark as Allura’s, but still dark. It was littered all over with sun-kisses freckles and darkened beauty marks. He had a particularly dark one right underneath his left eye. Keith loved to kiss it when he could, which never failed to make Lance flush a beautiful carmine. Lance’s skin was rough and his complexion was uneven in some places, but it was still beautiful. It had jagged scars and burn marks from fights and years of training, but those imperfections were all just a part of what made Lance beautiful. There was a small cut, one that didn’t heal quite right, right on Lance’s upper lip. It was barely there, a remnant of past pain and suffering, but it still remained.

 

Lance hated how marred his skin was, but Keith constantly told him, “I love it. I love it.” He had, on multiple occasions, held Lance’s face in his hands and simply stared at him, counting the number of moles on his face (5) and the tiny freckle constellations lining his nose (1,249).

 

Lance’s eyes were stunning. They were dark in the dim light of Lance’s room, but shone and exquisite gold against the sun. Keith wanted to get lost in his eyes, and often found himself daydreaming while simply staring at Lance. Lance had teased him about it, of course.

 

_Can’t seem to get enough of my beauty, can you, Samurai?_

_No, I can’t._

Lance was obviously in good shape; he trained with Keith constantly and fought to keep himself at an equal standing with him. Because of his copious amounts of training, his arms had built up over the course of the months they had been together. Lance’s legs had seemed to file out nicely as well, and Keith couldn’t help but stare at Lance on multiple occasions.

 

His body was like a sculpture, so well-crafted and beautiful and Keith wanted to run his hands over Lance’s arms and feel the muscles underneath.

 

It was the little things, though, about Lance’s appearance, that Keith truly appreciated.

 

The small cowlick his hair always seemed to make, no matter how much Lance tried to tame it. The small flakes of yellow tinted in Lance’s irises. His slightly crooked nose from when he broke it on a mission and it never really healed quite right. His full—yet chapped—lips. His smooth fingernails that were always sporting a different color of chipped nail polish. The dimples that appeared when he gave a wide, genuine smile. The way his eyes _shone_ when he looked at Keith in a way that made Keith feel like the whole world—like _Lance’s_ whole world.

 

The way Lance looked when he was asleep, his long eyelashes fanning his flushed cheeks. The way his shirt rode up a bit when he lifted his arms. The way he smiled, so full and bright, to where the peaks of his gums would show through.

 

Lance was beautiful in the way he looked. The way he spoke. The way he moved.

 

Keith looked over at Lance, who was laughing brightly, his cheeks flushed pink, at something Hunk had said. Lance looked over at him, and beamed, giving a small wave.

 

Keith flushed and smiled.

 

Lance was stunning.

 

_Beautiful._

 

* * *

 

_Taste: Cherry blossoms and a cherry soda. (Picnics in the country side.)_

No matter how many times they kissed, Keith could never grow tired of Lance’s taste.

 

Lance tasted like a whirlwind of flavors.

 

That minty toothpaste he used. Strawberries. Bubblegum. Coffee. Space goo (which oddly enough tasted _divine_ in Lance’s mouth).

 

Keith liked kissing Lance; they had dramatically improved since their first time, and now it was like second nature to them, to slot their lips together and map out the taste of each other’s mouths.

 

Keith imagined that he tastes like the vanilla lip gloss he uses, but he can’t be sure, really. He doesn’t pay attention to his own taste when Lance’s is so amazing.

 

They’re sitting together in the kitchen, shoulders pressed close. They’re sharing a bowl of strawberries.

 

“Chocolate,” Lance said.

 

Keith shook his head and hummed. “No. Too sweet.”

 

“ _Dark_ chocolate.”

 

“Only if it’s, like, 60%.”

 

“How are you _real_?” Lance looked disgusted. “If you don’t like sweets, then how come you can eat these.” He gestured to the strawberries.

 

Keith shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve just always liked them.” He took a strawberry and bit into it, humming happily at the taste. “Other sweet things, I really can’t handle.”

 

“So you wouldn’t like chocolate covered strawberries, then?” Lance gave a small grin.

 

“Dark chocolate covered strawberries. That sounds better.”

 

“Oh?” Lance crooned. “I guess I’ll have to make you some, then.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I’ll take you on a picnic. Like, a really gay picnic. When we get back to Earth after this is all over, we can lay out a blanket by the ocean and everything.” He smiled and leaned back on his elbows. “I’ll make us some sandwiches—I make a mean PB&J. We can drink lemonade and eat dark chocolate covered strawberries until we can’t eat them anymore.” He sat up and leaned full body against Keith. “And we can swim out in the ocean or just lay in the sand and make sandcastles.” He took Keith’s hand. “And… and we can hold hands and walk down the beach…” His voice was drifting off. “And like… watch the sunset…” He looked nervous. “I mean, only if you want.” He looked over to the side. “Not that I care if we do it, or anything.” He was blushing.

 

Keith shifted so he was fully facing Lance. He brought his hands to cradle Lance’s face, and brought him close so their lips briefly touched.

 

Lance tasted like strawberries, and Keith had never loved the taste more.

 

They parted, and Keith smiled. “I’d like that.”

 

Lance beamed. “Really?”

 

Keith laughed. “Yep. When we get back to Earth, I’m going to take you up on that offer.” He clasped their fingers together.

 

Lance nodded and squeezed Keith’s hand. “It’s a date.”

 

Keith reached over and plucked a strawberry from the bowl and bit into it.

 

_Sweet._

 

* * *

 

_Sound: I said, “I love you, do you think I’m crazy?”  (“Yes,” you said, “But I don’t mind.”)_

There’s no sound in space. Keith had learned that in science class when he was younger. Space is a vacuum, therefore, sound cannot be produced.

 

Yet, in the confides of the ship they’ve called temporarily called home, Keith found comfort in Lance’s voice.

 

His voice was smooth and loud, a boisterous clamor against the silence of the universe. Lance spoke like he knew what he was talking about, all confident and suave. He held his head up high, his pride being the only thing he knew.

 

Keith liked simply listening to Lance speak. Lance could talk about anything and everything and nothing, never running out of things to say. It didn’t matter what the subject was, Lance would always have something to say.

 

Sometimes it was annoying, Lance never shutting up.

 

But Keith knew that Lance spoke to fill the silence. The silence of being alone.

 

Keith loved Lance’s laugh. He laughed like he meant it, all breathy rasps and choked syllables. He snort-laughed, sometimes, which was kind of gross and kind of endearing at the same time. When Lance laughed, it was loud, not unlike himself. He laughed with his face tinged red, his eyes shut, grin in place.

 

Lance was a loud person. He was a loud speaker and a loud laugher. Just a loud person in general.

 

There were some times, though, where he wasn’t loud.

 

There were times where he was a soft spoken teenage boy, afraid for his life. Afraid for his own safety and his friends and family. There were times where he doubted himself, where he holed himself up in his room for day, refusing to speak to anyone, even Keith. There were times where he whispered to Keith, _sometimes I wonder if I’m really needed._ There were times where he shared his deepest insecurities, hushed and in the silence of their rooms.

 

Keith always said the same thing. _You are enough._

_But what if I’m not?_

_You are._

_You all would work better without me._

_We wouldn’t._

_You would be happier without me._

_I wouldn’t._

_Are you sure?_

_Yes. I love you._

_I’m sorry._

_Don’t apologize. I love you._

_I love you too. I love you too._

 

The times where Lance is quiet—those are the times that hurt Keith the most.

 

He looked down at Lance, who was resting his head in Keith’s lap, smiling up at him gently. Lance’s eyes were bright, a pretty gold. His cheeks were tinged a light pink, dusting the apples of his cheeks. His hair was getting a bit long, and Keith made a note to tell Lance to keep it like that. He liked running his hands through Lance’s hair. Keith smiled back down at Lance, tracing the side of Lance’s face with his index finger.

 

“Hey,” Lance said.

 

Keith shook his head, huffing out a breath of laughter. “Hey.”

 

Lance grinned, and Keith swore he saw every color in the universe swirl in Lance’s eyes. “I love you.”

 

Keith leaned down and kissed him. “I love you too,” he murmured against his lips. “Idiot,” he added for good measure.

 

Lance laughed, and Keith smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://amedala.tumblr.com)


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